Cardan
I’m not the goddess herself.
But maybe she’s trying to build me up in her mirror image.
Fucked situations.
Fucked relationships.
Fucked mental state.
It’s a joke.
“It’s a f*****g joke!” I bellow.
My head falls into my open palms soon after. My old man’s asleep--or dying--less than two feet away from me and I’m basking in a world of mental turmoil.
“You’ve got a lot going on as it is,” I tell his motionless form, “I shouldn’t be lugging you with all my problems.”
Sucks though.
If not him, then who else?
I focus on the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest.
“I’m sorry for yelling.” I say, quietly.
Folding my hands across my chest, I let out a deep sigh.
Fuck.
Oh fuuckkkkkkk.
I’ve been framed for the murder of one of my longest running allies.
There’s a freeloade
